


False Impressions

by im_an_idjit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, M/M, Oneshot, god it's been so long I've missed writing this stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 23:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3788494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_an_idjit/pseuds/im_an_idjit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean hits it off with Castiel after helping him out with his broken-down car. The catch? Castiel's already seeing someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	False Impressions

Sam was halfway through his argument on why Dumbledore trumped Gandalf (a _blatant_ _lie_ , by the way) when his eyes passed over the clock on the wall. Face blanching, he registered the time and blurted out, “Shit, I have to go! I have class in like, two minutes.”

He started scrambling for his wallet in the depths of his backpack, but Dean stopped him with a wave. “Hey, I got it. Just go, man. You'll be late.”

Then Sam got to babbling how he'd pay him back next time as he scooped his things up, at which point Dean had to remind him it was dollar-fifty for a damn cup of coffee, and told him to scram. It was only a few minutes – seconds, really – after his brother had left that Dean drained his own cup and left a few bills under the napkin holder, about to do the same.

But then he heard it: a baritone voice, rough like gravel, but steady, almost calming, like the roll of a wave. He looked up to the booth in front of him, where the speaker sat, absentmindedly picking at the sugar packs as he talked into the phone.

He looked older than Sam, but was clearly a student here, if the stack of books beside him were anything to go by. His dark hair was all over the place, like he'd been running his hands through it or had just rolled out of bed after sex. With the big, baby blues and the sinful mouth, the latter might not have been far from the truth.

The guy obviously hadn't noticed Dean staring yet – he was too focused on the phone call. If Dean turned his head just enough, he could pick out, “...going to be late, the car won't start up. I don't know what's wrong, I drove to the campus without any trouble. … No, I still need to call someone to take it to the mechanic. I just got out of class and realized it wouldn't turn on.”

So, hot guy with car trouble. Damn him if that wasn't just up Dean's alley. He could totally help out – Bobby didn't need him back till five and besides, he didn't have much else to do today so what the hell. Plus, as previously stated: _hot guy_. The math wasn't hard.

Dean waited until he was done with his call before getting up. Slowly, so the guy had time to register him, he approached the booth and leaned his hip against the opposite seat.

“Hey, uh, sorry to eavesdrop, but I heard you've got some issues with your car. You want any help?”

The dude looked surprised, but not creeped out. Good start. “It's fine, thank you. I intended to call my mechanic to pick it up.”

Dean shrugged, grinning. “Heh, I _am_ a mechanic. I can take a look at it for you, see if we can get it started without the tow-truck.”

“Oh. If you have the time, I would appreciate it.”

And that was how they ended up in the campus parking lot, bent under the hood, with Dean inspecting the damage and the dude observing beside him, wrapped up in a beige trench coat.

“Okay, I'm gonna check your spark plugs first to see if the electricity's running,” Dean explained, unsure whether the guy understood him or not, but figured he'd appreciate knowing a stranger wasn't fucking up his car.

The response was a blank, “All right.” Okay, so it meant jack to him.

Chuckling, Dean tilted his chin up and said over his shoulder, “See, if there's no electricity, then there's your problem.” He then removed the spark plug in question, and tapped its tip against the corner of the socket. Nothing happened. “Yeah, there's no electricity. See when I do this?” Dean said, repeated his previous tapping. “Usually, you get sparks if you do that. Here? There's nothing.”

“I see. What do you think caused the problem?”

“Most likely your condenser died out. It's probably time to change it,” Dean said as he backed away, wiping his hands off his trousers. He closed the hood, then added, “Sorry, man, looks like you're gonna have to tow it.”

“Nevertheless, thank you,” the guy said, his sincerity loud and clear.

Dean didn't know what prompted him to say the next sentence. Maybe it was the distractive way Hot Guy's mouth moved around his words, with the slightest hint of tongue peeking out. “Do you want a ride?”

The other tilted his head slightly, brow furrowing as he murmured, “Excuse me?”

“You sounded like you were in a hurry over the phone, and your car's pretty much screwed. Figured you'd be needing some sort of transport,” Dean explained, somewhat awkward and what the fuck, since when is Dean Winchester skittish around attractive individuals?

“I suppose you're right. I haven't thought about it,” he admitted. “If it's not too much trouble, I'd be grateful. To be honest, public transport is... tiring.”

Dean laughed – that was putting it mildly. He had some experience with the _colourful_ people you meet on the bus, when his car was in repairs or it just simply didn't pay off to drive, and his quota was filled, thanks. He caught the slight quiver in the corner of the other's mouth, the first hint of any emotion on the otherwise straight line, and thought about how nice those full lips must look around a genuine smile.

He didn't realised he had kinda zoned out until Hot Guy asked, “What do you suggest I do with my car in the meantime?”

Dean quickly recovered, playing it off like he was surveying the car and not trying to reign his wandering thoughts in. “Listen, I can call my boss and we can have it towed over to our place. He's fair, and the team's reliable.”

“It's all right. You can give me the number and I will call him.”

“Sure. Just gimme some paper or your phone to write it down.” He was handed the sleek device and thumbed the digits in, saving the contact under 'Robert Singer'. “That's Bobby's number. My boss,” he said, and because he was a smooth motherfucker, he added as he typed, “And I'll leave you mine, in case you got more questions. I'm Dean, by the way. Just realized I haven't actually introduced myself.”

“Castiel. Hello.” And there was the smile, somehow managing to be reserved and warm at the same time. It wasn't a full-blown grin, his lips parted just a little, enough to reveal white teeth. His eyes didn't crinkle completely, but they were bright and all too blue.

Dean shook Hot Guy's – Castiel's – offered hand, before giving back the phone. “Hi.” Still a little out of it, it took him a second to remember that he was supposed to be dropping him off somewhere. Right. “So, uh. My car is right over there--” He pointed at the black Chevrolet Impala across the parking lot. “Let's get you where you're supposed to be.”

The first minutes of the ride were spent in silence. After he was given the address (an apartment complex not far away), conversation was put on hold while Dean tried to figure his way out of the maze that was the college campus. No matter how many times he'd visited, he still had no idea how to get out once he was in. Castiel didn't seem to mind, though. He helped out when needed, providing short comments on the direction. Once on the road, Dean was itching to fill the quiet that had settled in, so he started with the basic, if not predictable,

“So, Castiel. What's your major?”

He turned from the window to face Dean properly, and said, “Psychology.”

Dean let out a low whistle. “Really? That's interesting. What year?”

“My last. I'm graduating in the summer.”

“Congrats, man. You know what you're gonna do next?”

“I'm working my way towards a doctoral degree in counselling psychology.”

“Impressive,” Dean said, and he meant it. The amount of work Castiel had waiting for him must have been massive. Dean knew he sure as hell would never be able to stick it out as far as a PhD.

“What about you?” Dean was sort of surprised to hear Castiel address him first – from what he'd gathered, the guy was pretty quiet.

He frowned. “What do you mean? _Oh_.” Catching on, he explained, “No, I didn't go to college. I work at Bobby's full-time.” More due to habit than anything, the muscle in his jaw went tense. Castiel didn't seem like a dickwad, but you never know. Dean learned to expect judgement when touching on the topic of his occupation.

“Is the work demanding?” Castiel asked, and there was that genuine interest again.

Tension bled from Dean's face, and immediately, he felt guilty – not to mention, stupid – for assuming. “Yeah, it can be, most of the time. But it's what sits best with me, you know?”

“May I ask what brought you to the campus, then?”

“I was checking in with Sam, my little brother. He's a Lit major, just started this year.”

“Do you visit him often?”

“Every now and then. Just to make sure he's doing good, you know?” Dean said as the apartment complex came into view. “Which number are you at?”

“302. My brothers liked to check on me in my first year too,” Castiel said, then pointed, “Here, the first left. Then till the end of the street.”

“Got it. How many brothers you got?”

“Three. All older, and all over-protective.”

“Yeah, Sammy says I get like that too. It's just the way it is when you got younger siblings.” Dean grinned.

Before he knew it, the car was rolling to a stop in front of number 302 and he was shutting the engine off. Hands still on the wheel, he watched Castiel go for his seatbelt and felt more than a little unhappy that the ride was over.

“Thank you so much for all your help, Dean,” Castiel said while he unbuckled his seatbelt. “I'll be sure to call Mr Singer about my car today.”

“Great. Then I'll be in later to take a look at it.” Dean made a mental note of all that he'd need to get ready for Castiel's car.

“When would I be able to come pick it up?”

“It should be an easy fix. You can swing by tomorrow afternoon if you've got the time.” Dean didn't have too much work piling up at the moment, he could easily squeeze Castiel in and get it done for tomorrow.

“My classes finish a little before two. I will see you then.” With another one of his shy smiles, Castiel climbed out of the car and made his way to the entrance of his building.

Dean waited to see him go in, then spun the car around and returned the way he came, heading back home.

* * *

The squeak of shoes against the floor gave Dean a heads up that he wasn't alone. He was on a creeper, underneath Rufus' pick-up and didn't see shit, but could make out a pair of well-worn boots stopping by his toolbox when he rolled his head to the side. He didn't even have to ask to know that it was Bobby.

“Dean, when's that guy of yours from yesterday coming around to get his car?” his boss asked.

Dean took a look at his watch, squinting a little to see the hands in the semi-dark. “Twenty minutes? I told him sometime in the afternoon.” He paused in his work to roll out from underneath, suspicious. Bobby would lend a hand if you had any problems, but so long as the job was being done right, he didn't meddle much, and he never took any interest in pick ups.

Bobby was looking at him funny when he emerged from beneath the truck, like he disapproved of something and expected Dean to know what it was. But he didn't.

“Why?” Dean asked.

“Just want to see who he is, that's all, and find out what's so special about him that you had to go off your schedule.”

Busted.

Dean smiled sheepishly and wiped his hands with a nearby rag. “Okay, so _maybe_ I bent the rules a bit. But I got the condenser changed _and_ all my other appointments done. If anything, I'm bringing you a bigger profit.”

Bobby called him an “idjit” under his breath, so Dean knew he couldn't be too hung up about it. He thought that was the end of it and was about to go under again, when his boss prodded again, “Well?”

“It's nothing, Bobby. Just a favour for a friend.”

Bobby nodded mock-sagely, brow furrowed. Dean didn't like it. “Aha. So, you _weren't_ pushing your appointments back to get his car finished as quick as possible and impress him.”

“I did _not,”_ Dean insisted, which was a) _pathetic_ , and b) useless because he could actually feel his face burning up and betraying him. It only resulted in Bobby laughing. “Will you just let me work? I need to finish here, or I'll have Rufus on my case.”

The argument was flimsy and transparent, but it was enough to get Bobby moving back to his office, leaving Dean to add some final touches and call it a day. He spent the last ten minutes before Castiel's arrival cleaning up and moving his car out.

Then, he was seeing that trench coat again, its owner coming at him staunchly, but in no rush to hurry. The intensity of Castiel's eyes was dimmed in the weak light of the shop. It almost made it easier for Dean to keep focused. Emphasis on _almost_ , because the moment Castiel started in that deep voice, bringing attention to his mouth, all bets were off.

“Hey, man. Good to see you again,” Dean said as they shook hands.

Castiel was looking better today, less stressed now that his car was no longer giving him grief. His hair was still a disaster though, and Dean was beginning to think that was just its natural state. With a small nod, Castiel replied, “Hello, Dean. How are you?”

Okay, yeah. Focus was definitely off the table.

“Uh, fine. Can't complain.” He shrugged, leading the way to where Castiel's car was waiting. “How was class?” Fuck, was he being too nosy?

Castiel didn't seem to mind his prying, or if he did, he didn't give any hints. Instead he ran a hand through his hair ( _Damn, let me do that for you,_ Dean's mind supplied unhelpfully.), and said, “There's pressure from an upcoming paper, so my mind was somewhat occupied today. But otherwise, they went well.”

Dean nodded, then patted the hood of the car. “So, it's like I said, your condenser needed to be fixed,” he explained and as he did, he briefly noted a man entering behind Castiel's back.

It wasn't until he was about ten feet away that Dean realised he was coming at them, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, an amused smirk in place as he strolled leisurely towards Castiel, clearly meaning to surprise him. Before Dean could decide whether he should give Castiel a heads up, the blond wrapped an arm around the latter's waist. What the hell?

“Sorry, I got held up on the phone,” the dude drawled – surprisingly enough – in a British accent. He briefly glanced over to Dean and said, “I'm Balthazar, I drove this angel here.”

“Dean. Hey,” he said, though didn't offer a hand. Dean got cranky _fast_ around the arrogant types, and Balthazar's entire posture screamed cocky.

Balthazar's interest was suddenly piqued. “Oh, _you're_ Dean. Cassie's knight in shining armour.”

O _kay_ , the choice of words sounded like a weird thing for someone's boyfriend to say, and that was definitely the vibe Balthazar was sending off here.

With a glance thrown at Castiel, who was almost glaring at the other and showing the first signs of embarrassment, Dean excused himself to get the paperwork. A disappointed and damn irritating clutch had settled in his chest, which made no sense, because he met the guy _yesterday,_ and besides, what was he, a high schooler?

Well, apparently he was, because a fresh wave of jealousy washed over him when he came back shortly after. The Universe decided to add salt to the wound, and Dean was just in time to see Balthazar leaning in close to Castiel and whispering something, which caused the latter to flush a deep red. Dean stayed to a side for a moment, waiting until Castiel's attention was back on him. There was a hint of the blush left, but Castiel faced him through it.

Balthazar, for the most part, pretended like nothing was wrong and simply smirked in Dean's direction again. Then, with an air of smugness, he announced, “Darling, I'm off to class. I'll see you for a late lunch, yeah?” After passing a hand down Castiel's arm, he was just about to walk off, when he turned to add as if just remembering, “Don't wait up for me tonight!”

“I'm sorry about Balthazar,” Castiel said to Dean once they were alone again. “He's known to be... theatrical.”

“No worries. We all have that _one_ friend.” Shit, bad idea. Don't bad-mouth the boyfriend. “Anyway, here's the bill. And you need to sign right here.”

Castiel signed where needed and took a look at the price before dutifully handing over the payment. “Thank you again, Dean. I really appreciate getting my car back so soon. It can be difficult when you're in a city without one.”

“Not a problem. You're preaching to the choir.” Dean shut the folder with the dollar bills tucked inside and slid it under his arm.

When he looked back at Castiel, the guy looked like he wanted to say something, but was hesitant about it. Dean didn't know the etiquette here – if he noticed Sam holding something back, he'd wring it out of him one way or another. But he wasn't about to try it with a near-stranger.

But Castiel ended up saving him the trouble, because he cleared his throat a little before saying, “I'd like to take you out for lunch, Dean, as repayment for your kindness.”

For a second there, Dean thought he was asking him out. It sent him reeling back internally, then he chastised himself because come on, man, get it together, you just saw that bit of PDA there. Balthazar may have looked like a smarmy douche, but the two seemed happy together.

“Hey, Cas, come on. You don't have to pay me back for doing my _job_ ,” Dean finally said, and whoa, where the hell did 'Cas' come from?

“You went out of your way to help me yesterday,” Castiel denied with a shake of his head. “Please, I'd like to return the favour. Even if it is only in the form of a meal.”

“Cas,” Dean started – yeah, it looked like this 'Cas' thing was here to stay – but really, he had no argument and to be honest, his heart wasn't in it. He wanted to see Castiel again, but...

...Then again, he could be reading into this too much. The dude just wanted to get some lunch with him. It would be completely harmless to accept the offer. Besides, it wasn't like Dean couldn't have friendships with people, for Christ's sake. Even if he was insanely attracted to said person. Right.

Castiel watched him with an expectantly raised eyebrow, but smiled faintly when Dean failed to offer any sort of rebuttal. “I'm afraid I can't tell you an exact day, I have this paper coming up. But would next week work for you?” he asked.

“Yeah, don't sweat it. Call me whenever you're up for it.” Did that sound like flirting? Shit, _stop_.

When Castiel left shortly after, Dean was still wondering whether he'd done good. He needed to get his mind off this, before it drove him up the wall. His hand came up to rub his face, and he breathed out hard through his nose, walking back to the interior of the shop. Hopefully he could lend a hand to one of the guys and finally get his head to stop spinning.

* * *

He got a call from Cas the following week, and because Dean was too distracted imagining what Castiel's mouth looked like, he ended up agreeing to the first option the other had suggested. Which happened to be sushi.

So Dean had never actually _had_ sushi, but he figured, on his way to the joint, that he'd get the hang of it. Hell, it wouldn't hurt to try something new once in a while either.

It wasn't until he actually had the menu in front of him that he realised he had no idea what was going on and more importantly, what was going in his mouth.

That last thought took a whole new meaning when his eyes met Cas' across the table. Fuck.

“Dean? Is everything okay?” Castiel asked him, setting his own menu down to give Dean his full attention.

“Uh. I'm-- It's just, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be eating here.” Shut up. Shut up _right now._ “Of the food, I mean.” Oh, Christ.

“You haven't had sushi before?” Castiel asked, his eyebrows raised in that polite, surprised sort of way, so it was safe to assume he hadn't taken note of the innuendo.

“No. I thought there'd be some explanation, you know, like underneath the dish.”

“What would you like to have? I could order something for you, according to your preferences,” Castiel said.

“Nah, it's fine.” Dean said instead, having gotten his brain-to-mouth filter working again. “I'll take the same as you. Seems you know your way around.” Holy shit, _no_. “Because, uh, you know. You've had sushi before.”

Castiel was smiling now. God, there was _no way_ he didn't catch on. To Dean's immense relief, he didn't comment on it, and answered his proposition instead. “I was planning on ordering a bento. It's a kind of lunch box with rice, fish or meat in it, and some vegetables. Would that be all right with you?”

“Sounds good.” Dean grinned.

Not only that, but when two bentos arrived fifteen minutes later, he realised that holy _hell_ , it looked just as good too. A clump of white rice and cooked vegetables on one side and different kinds of sushi on the other, all neatly arranged in the compartments of a sleek black box.

Cas set a napkin on his lap and picked up his chopsticks, adjusting them with ease. Dean couldn't help gaping at how perfectly poised they were, 'cause he could never get his to sit right in his hand.

“Dude, how do you do that?” he asked, and Castiel looked at him in surprise, before breaking out into a shy smile.

“I've had a lot of practice. Sushi is a guilty pleasure.” Tapping his chopsticks together, he asked, “Would you like me to show you? It's not hard.”

So Dean agreed, because what was the worst that could happen?

Well, either the Universe loved to prove him wrong, or he just couldn't grasp the concept of chopsticks. It didn't matter which, because he was stuck at step two, and now his hands were in Cas'. This was just asking for trouble.

“Wait, keep the lower one on top of your ring finger,” Castiel told him through his grin. As ridiculous as Dean felt (this really shouldn't have been _that_ difficult), the thought of Cas grinning like that, all teeth and gums and so fucking bright, because of _him_ , well. It was a pretty good feeling. “Now, put this chopstick back on your middle finger. The index finger needs to lie flat on it. Like that, good.”

All the while, Cas held his hand through it (no pun intended), guiding his fingers around the chopstick, pressing them firmly down. The whole thing felt way more sexual than it should be. It was making Dean think of all kinds of things that he really shouldn't, because for one, Cas was in a relationship, and for another, _Cas was in a relationship_.

(His hands were really warm, though. Dean enjoyed it, ignoring the chick-flick feeling and, y'know, _inappropriateness_ of it all.)

Once he made sure Dean could hold the chopsticks adequately enough to actually hold food, Castiel switched to the box in front of him. “These are the cooked vegetables, and this is rice with raw cuttlefish,” he explained with a gesture to the left side of the bento. “Then here is the nigirizushi--” Those were the elongated mounds of rice with slices of raw seafood. Salmon, tuna and cuttlefish, by the looks of it. “--and the norimaki.” The last were those small seaweed rolls that Dean usually thought of at the mention of sushi.

“Awesome. And this?” Dean pointed to the small square of green paste.

“Wasabi. It's hot, so be careful not to put too much,” Cas said. “You also have soy sauce here. I prefer it to the wasabi.”

With that, they were good to go. Dean went about it clockwise, eating a little bit of everything to see what he liked best. The rice was amazing, the nigirizushi a little less so because there was too much seafood for his liking, but the norimaki, with a more agreeable rice-to-fish ratio, was the clear winner, especially with some wasabi.

Watching Cas eat though, now _that_ was the highlight. The guy took it to an art form. Dean knew he shouldn't stare, but he was fucking mesmerised by the way Castiel's mouth closed around each bite, how he took forever to chew and then swallow it, like he was savouring every second of it. He was by no means a messy eater, but every now and then his tongue would peak out to lick away imaginary remnants from his lip. Dean got the sneaking feeling that Castiel knew he was watching and in fact, did it all for his benefit. There were times when their eyes met, and the way Cas looked at him... His gaze was too intense not to mean what Dean thought it meant.

This was _definitely_ trouble.

Clearing his throat, Dean tried to change the subject. “So! How'd you find this place?”

“Through Balthazar. You met him last Thursday, if you remember.

Yeah, Dean remembered him all right. His bitterness notwithstanding, this was actually a pretty convenient topic, a reminder even, for both of them to back down. “Speaking of, how did you two meet?” he asked.

Castiel seemed thrown off by that one. His brow crinkled slightly, and his head tilted, like he couldn't figure Dean out. Dean didn't blame him. He'd been heavily reciprocating his come-ons not five minutes ago, and here he was now, bringing up the boyfriend.

“Through university, actually. Balthazar is a sociology major, and he was my room-mate in my freshman year. We had a few mutual classes and became close,” Castiel explained, the confusion melting away just slightly.

“What about now, when you're living off-campus?”

The question was out before Dean could stop himself – he'd remembered the address he drove to that first day they met, and he just said it. He didn't even think about it until it had left his mouth. Christ, what if Cas thought it was his way of asking if he had a place they could fool around at? If Balthazar could ever find out about it?

“I-- I mean,” he was stuttering, desperately trying to dig his way out of this one. “It's gotta be tougher for you guys. You're both doing your dissertations, right? You probably don't have a lot of classes together anymore.” Okay, what the hell made him think _that_ was any better?

“No, we still live together. The apartment I'm at now is shared between us,” Castiel said.

“Oh. Okay. That's nice,” Dean finished lamely.

Conversation stayed on neutral topics after that, thank God, but Cas still looked baffled from time to time. Like he couldn't get why Dean was a little more reserved afterwards, or that he was to blame for the bit of awkwardness that lingered between them. Which Dean thought was kinda unfair, because Cas was the one flirting while in a relationship. _He_ might have been okay with cheating, but Dean was not.

But one part nagged at him, though – Cas didn't seem like the cheating type. He was honest, and he seemed like he genuinely cared about others. Dean had a hard time believing he'd intentionally hurt anyone, Balthazar included.

Maybe Balthazar had changed, or Castiel had. Maybe he was unhappy with the relationship. Maybe he wanted out. Whatever the reason was though, Dean knew that it wouldn't justify cheating.

They hung around outside a little after the meal, still chatting, unwilling to end the afternoon just yet. God, Dean wanted nothing more than to be able to get up in Cas' personal space, to cup his cheeks and kiss him, feel the press of his mouth against his own. He couldn't believe the bitter irony of it all – how fast they'd became friends, how fast he was actually falling for Cas, but wait, he was already in a relationship, so fuck you, Dean.

“Thanks for the food,” Dean said finally, when all conversation died down and there was nothing left but the goodbyes. “I'll definitely bring Sam to this place.”

“I'm glad you liked it. I had a great time, too,” Cas said, smile in place. Dean noticed that it was getting easier and easier to wring those out of him.

Dean was totally ready to shake hands and head home. But then came the clincher.

“Call me, if you'd like to meet again sometime,” Castiel said, looking for all the world like an innocent child. As if he didn't know the implications of his words.

So, what did Dean do? Did he act like a mature adult, and set Cas straight?

Of course not, because what Dean said was, “Yeah, of course. I'd like that too.”

When he finally did set off back to his place, Dean felt like the world's biggest fucking hypocrite.

* * *

The following weekend was lunch at his folks' house, but Dean was too sulky and distracted to enjoy it properly. His parents bought the lie that it was just work, but Sam knew something was up, because Sam knew everything. He tried to catch Dean's eye as they cleared the table, and Dean tried just as hard to avoid his brother's gaze, hopefully conveying to Sam that he wasn't in the mood.

Dean was grateful when his mom left to make a call and his dad to buy the ice cream he had forgotten for the pie, leaving him free to wallow in his self-pity with a beer. He'd got comfortable and glared into the empty fireplace, ready to start his reflection on how much life sucked ass, so of course that was the moment Sam decided to walk in.

“Sammy, you can stay if you're gonna be quiet. Otherwise, scram,” Dean informed him, taking a long drag from his bottle.

Unfortunately, Sam did the very opposite. “Come on, Dean. Just tell me what's up.”

“Nothing's up. I'm great,” he lied, and even threw in a bright smile to try to shake Sam off.

“You've been acting weird all day. I know you want to get this off your chest.”

“Sam, there's nothing wrong, okay? Drop it.”

Sam moved just to stand in front of Dean and take a seat in the armchair, then crossed his arms, bitch-face in place, and waited. Great.

Sighing, Dean ran a hand over his face, pinched the bridge of his nose as he got his thoughts in order. After one more drink, he started in a low voice, careful that their mother couldn't hear them next door.

“Let's say there's this guy that I'm... I'm _interested_ in. And he's into me too. We get along really well and we're friends, and occasionally... we flirt a little.”

“Okay,” Sam said, stretching the syllable, and squinted at Dean like he was speaking another language. “Are you making fun of me for trying to help--”

Scowling, Dean retorted, “No, I'm being serious.”

“Then what's the problem?” Sam demanded with a huff.

“The _problem_ ,” he grit out, “is that he's already seeing someone.”

“Oh.” Sam blinked, taken aback. “I, um. I can see how that might be an issue.”

“Gee, Sam, I'm glad I came to you,” Dean mocked, but didn't really mean it to sting. He was pissed at himself – he knew it, and Sam knew it.

“Hey, you didn't come to me, I had to force it out of you,” Sam reminded him with a dimpled smile. “But forget it. I get why you didn't say anything. There's not much you can do here, huh?”

“Sam.” Dean's voice was hoarse. He paused before continuing, unsure of what Sam would say. Leaning in closer, he thought, to hell with it, Sam wanted to talk, so he might as well get it all out. “What if we got together?”

His brother's face fell instantly, mirroring Dean's own serious, impassive mask. “What, you mean cheat?”

“Yeah. Would it... Would I be doing the wrong thing?”

“Hell yeah, you'd be doing the wrong thing, Dean!” Sam said sternly. “You can't let this guy use you like that.”

A sudden urge to protect Cas, to stand up for him, took over before Dean could even think about it. “Hey, he's not _using_ me,” he spat back. “What if he's not happy in his relationship? What if it's a bad one?”

“Well, that's his problem to sort out, Dean. He shouldn't cheat to find out the answer.” Dean looked up when Sam went suspiciously quiet, only to find his brother watching him in worry.

“What?” he demanded.

“Dean, you haven't-- I mean, you guys haven't done anything, right?” he muttered, his big puppy eyes coming into play, like he was losing faith in him. As if Dean needed to feel any worse, thanks.

“Of course I haven't!” he answered heatedly, but left out the part about how he wanted to, _badly_.

Even then, Sam could read him like an open book. Always had, always will.

He watched him for a moment, then said, “I think you should stop hanging out with this guy. He's... You're not planning to, right?” When Dean didn't answer, Sam said, a little louder, “Dean, you haven't called him anymore, have you?”

He called him. Of course he fucking called him again. Dean was only human and well... No matter how hard he tried fighting it, he was losing badly. He just couldn't give Cas up.

His guilty silence was all Sam needed.“Oh my God, Dean!”

“Hey! Nothing will happen, okay? We're just going out for drinks on Saturday, is that so bad?”

The tension left Sam's body and he deflated, but there was still that look on his face. Like Dean would fuck up once he got alcohol in his system. Which, okay, might be a valid point.

Shit, what was he _doing_?

The sound of gravel churning beneath tyres put a lid on any further conversation. Sam only had time to shoot one worried look at his brother, before John's voice floated in from the hall, calling for them. Without another word, Dean grabbed his beer bottle and stalked off, with Sam following in silence.

* * *

Dean saw Sam again on Wednesday, when he dropped by the campus to bring his brother Chinese take-out. Sam wasn't eating properly and Dean knew it, since his finals were right around the corner. They met up on the quad, Sam's favourite spot for studying and thankfully, the topic of Cas wasn't brought up again. After some quips, hair-ruffling on Dean's part and sputtered protests on Sam's, Dean headed back to his car, fully intending to check in at Bobby's early and find some distraction under a rusty hood.

Except that on his way to the parking lot, he spotted Cas walking in the opposite direction, thumbing through a book as he went. For a moment, Dean considered hiding somewhere, _anywhere_ , but before he could decide on a course of action, it was too late; Castiel happened to look up, and the smile that lit up his face just made Dean's gut twist with even more guilt.

Sam was right – Dean needed to talk to him, get everything out in the open and hopefully, figure something out.

“Hello, Dean. Have you been to see Sam?” Cas asked, tucking his book back under his arm.

“Yeah, I left him some lunch. He's been studying non-stop. Kid's gotta eat something.”

Pussyfooting around the subject was a horrible idea. Dean had to get a move-on and straighten Cas out, the sooner the better.

Which was exactly why he avoided the issue and said, “So. Uh. What's that?”

Castiel looked at the book Dean had nodded towards. “Just something for class. I was actually on my way to the library to return this and a few others. Would you like to join me? If you have the time, that is.”

“Yeah, why not? I got nothing planned.”

In his defence, Dean argued that he wasn't chickening out. He was just buying himself some time, so he could ease Cas into it. In fact, he spent the entire fifteen-minute walk to the library easing him into it (read: discussed the awesomeness that was sweet crab corn soup because Dean Winchester was a fucking chicken and don't ever let him tell you different), and was still at it while Castiel went to take a look at a book his professor had recommended.

He followed Cas to the very back of the library – a secluded little spot for reference-only texts – away from the tables and the murmur of other students. Dean's voice instinctively softened too, afraid to disturb even the dust lightly coating the shelves and its occupants.

“So, what are you looking for?” he whispered to Cas, gaze shifting from names on the spines to look at the man beside him. But instead of getting an answer, Dean felt the brush of Cas' lips against his own.

It was a quick, soft, perfectly calculated movement, over in a second, but it stunned Dean so much that he felt like he had the wind knocked out of him. He was given no time to react, because Castiel was kissing him again, gentle but firm all the same. A hand came up to rest on Dean's chest, a warm and grounding presence, holding him in place. And just like that, Dean's resolve crumbled.

He guided Cas to lean back against the shelf and pressed a knee between his legs, let him rub up against him in search of friction. His mouth found the spot at the joint of Castiel's jaw, sucking and nipping at the skin. A moan rippled low in Castiel's throat, and Dean could feel the other's muscles tense, trying to prevent his whimper from escaping. His hands glided up to play with the hair on the nape of Dean's neck, to tug occasionally and urge him on.

A lick across the seam of Cas' lips parted them easily, allowing Dean in to taste and feel. They had to stay quiet, biting back groans and whispers and sighs, restricting their movements to slow caresses and grinds. The secrecy of it all just worked to turn Dean on even more.

Then it hit him, the reality of the situation, the _reason_ for the silence and hiding, forcing him to rip his hands and his mouth from Cas' skin. Dean pulled away, keeping Castiel at arm's length and far enough not to tempt him again.

“Dean?” Castiel's voice was husky, almost panting. His eyes looked like they'd glazed over, though they were slowly regaining some focus. “What...”

“Cas, we gotta stop,” Dean said, own voice sounding too loud in his ears.

Castiel stood up straight, but to Dean's relief, didn't try to take a step towards him. He needed the physical distance between them. “Why? Is something wrong?”

God, wasn't everything.

With a start, Dean realised he was shaking. Not badly – at least, not visibly – but he felt the tremor in his fingers, the way they itched to reach out and touch Cas again. A part of him wanted to just shut up, pretend like he hadn't said anything. It wasn't _his_ responsibility to fix or take care of Castiel's relationship.

He looked helplessly at Castiel, then gestured between them. “ _This_ ,” he forced himself to say. “We can't do this. It's not right.”

“This... My feelings for you? And yours for me?”

Jesus H. Christ, did he just... Did Castiel just admit that he had feelings for _him?_

“God, Cas, don't say that,” Dean begged. “ _Please_ don't say that. For Christ's sake, what would Balthazar say?”

“ _Balthazar?_ ”

“Yeah. Just think how you'd be hurting him.” He couldn't resist touching Cas anymore. Dean had to reassure him, convince him to do the right thing. Putting his hands on his shoulders, he carried on, “Look, we can be friends, Cas. We just can't... You're better than this, man. I know you are.”

Castiel's incredulous laugh startled Dean. He shook his head and said hollowly, “You must not know me, then. This is who I am, Dean, and I can't change that.”

Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. This _couldn't_ be Castiel. “Cas--”

“I have to go. And you do too.” he said, shaking off Dean's hold.

Without another word, he strode out of the section, not looking back once. Dean didn't try to stop him.

* * *

There was only one way to deal with such a shitty turn of events, and that was to hit up a bar and get drunk.

That evening found Dean at the Roadhouse, sitting in a corner table by himself and making his way through a second bottle of beer. He was deaf to everything around him; the chatter, guffaws, Ellen's voice at the bar, the game of pool across the room. Guilt had settled heavily in his chest early on in the night – he couldn't help feeling partially responsible for the way things had gone down. If he had made the situation clear to Castiel at the very outset, maybe they could have stayed friends, even laughed about it a few years down the line (Dean conveniently didn't think about how damn difficult it would have been pretending not to care about Cas the way he did in this alternate future). Maybe they wouldn't have had that fight, or whatever the hell it was. More like a confused mess of disbelief and resignation.

The one thing that he couldn't get past was the hurt in Castiel's eyes when Dean had said they couldn't go on doing this. Like he wasn't the one committing adultery, and _Dean_ was to blame. That look of betrayal was tattooed in his mind. He couldn't shake it no matter how hard he tried.

Done with the second bottle, Dean was ready to move on to the third. He raised his hand a little, looking around the joint for Ash or Jo. But he didn't find them. No, because the Universe hated Dean, he spotted Balthazar in a dimly-lit corner, at the far end of the room. With a Martini in hand, and looking smug and irritating like usual, he listened to his friend – another blond, all smirks and banter. Jesus, he looked just as narcissistic as Balthazar did.

Dean changed his mind about the beer. He was gonna go home and mindlessly watch TV until he fell asleep, because this was just--

The train of thought flew right out of his mind because _holy shit on a stick,_ the blond just stuck his tongue down Balthazar's throat, and he didn't do anything about it. In fact, he was cooperating a hundred percent.

Dean gaped at the scene in front of him. He blinked once, twice, three times, just to check if he was imagining it, because if he was, he was drunker than he thought.

But he wasn't. Those two were making out right there, hands all over each other, like they weren't in public. Like Castiel wasn't at home right now, not even aware of what his cheating scumbag of a boyfriend was up to.

Cas needed to know. Whatever he'd done, or had tried to do, it didn't matter. He didn't deserve this, just like Dean had believed Balthazar didn't.

It worked like a bucket of cold water over his head. He had to get to Cas right now. He had to tell him what was going on and that Balthazar was a piece of shit and that he was sorry, so fucking sorry.

The ride to Castiel's apartment shouldn't have been as short as it felt, but Dean had driven there on autopilot, mind running over what he was going to say again and again. For once, luck was on his side because a neighbour was just leaving the building, so he was able to slip in without having to do this over the intercom. After scanning through the row of metal mail boxes for Castiel's name, Dean figured out which floor and apartment number he was in.

The elevator ride was slow and tense, but finally, _finally_ , he made it in front of Castiel's door. Another agonizing, stressful minute waiting for the door to open came and went, and suddenly, Dean was face-to-face with Castiel again.

He wore a plain white t-shirt, pyjama bottoms and a glare that could level a city. Clearly he was still pissed, but Dean would rather have that than the pain that would inevitably follow what he had to say.

“Cas, we need to talk,” Dean told him.

“We don't. Please leave,” Castiel said, his voice surprisingly calm.

“No, listen to me, there's something I gotta tell you--”

“ _You_ listen. I have nothing to say to you, all right? You have made your feelings quite clear this afternoon, and we don't have to dwell on it.” With a huff, he stepped back. “Goodbye, Dean.”

So Dean took a step forward. “No! Cas, wait!” As the door came closing in his face, he called out, “Cas, Balthazar is cheating on you!”

The door stopped. Castiel's face emerged again, confusion etched in his features. “What?”

“Balthazar is cheating on you,” Dean repeated, solemn but firm. “I saw him at a bar with another guy. They were... kissing.” The words clung to his throat, and felt even heavier on his tongue. He hated having to do this to Cas.

Stepping closer, Dean's eyes settled on Cas', but the expression on his face caught his attention. Castiel looked shocked, yeah, but there was no hint of sadness, no signs of pain at all.

“But, Dean,” Castiel said, squinting at him, “Balthazar and I aren't together.”

Now it was Dean's turn to look confused. “ _What?_ ”

“We aren't together. Balthazar is my best friend,” Castiel repeated. “What's more, he's been dating my brother for the past three years.”

Dean obviously couldn't do much other than repeat after Cas like a parrot. “Your-- Your _brother?_ ”

Castiel moved closer now too. He propped himself up on the door, so he was facing Dean. “That must have been the man you saw in the bar. Balthazar told me the two of them would be going out for drinks tonight.”

“Is your brother blond, kind of has a creepy leer going on?” Dean clarified.

God, seeing Cas smile again was amazing. All the stress bled out of Dean's system, his heart beat slowed down to a normal rate as everything fell into place.

He nodded, and said, “Yes, that describes Lucifer quite well. He can get... carried away around Balthazar.”

“Holy shit.” Dean laughed as the situation finally cleared up. He played back that moment when Balthazar had visited the shop, looking at his wording in a whole new light. Then he thought of this afternoon, how Castiel had acted at the mention of him, how he had acted when...

Dean blanched, and his hand came over his mouth.

“Holy _shit_ ,” he said again. “This afternoon-- The stuff I said, you must have thought I was a closeted, homophobic tease!”

“Well... yes,” Castiel admitted, then it seemed to dawn on him too, because his face slackened and he gaped a little. “And you must have thought that we were committing adultery.”

“ _Exactly_.” Dean held his hands out, palms outstretched towards Castiel to assure him. “Cas, I'm not-- I have _no problem_ with you being gay. Or bi! It doesn't matter.”

“Yes, I understand that now,” Castiel replied with a wry smile.

It pulled a grin out of Dean too. Slowly, he wound an arm around Cas' waist, pulling him close so he could bring their foreheads together. “So, we good?”

“That depends. You won't have any more objections to my kissing you, will you?” Holy hell, Cas was such a damn _tease_ when he put his mind to it. Dean would be lying if he said it didn't turn him on.

To answer his question, Dean raised his hand to tilt Castiel's chin up and press their lips together. He enjoyed the languid, easy drag of Cas' mouth against his. It felt comfortable, warm, like it was natural. Cas deepened the kiss in no time as he looped his arms around the other's shoulders, carding his fingers through his hair and letting out a content hum.

“You know,” he murmured into Dean's mouth, “Balthazar also mentioned he wouldn't be coming home, which means the apartment is empty tonight.” He stopped to nibble on Dean's lower lip and fixed him with a playful spark in his eye.

Christ, Cas was gonna be the end of him.

“Would you like to come inside?” he teased.

Dean couldn't agree fast enough.

**Author's Note:**

> *dusts profile* Ha ha um... It's been a while! Eight months, but pfft, who's counting?
> 
> For the fic itself: Thanks to my sister and Audrey for beta-ing, and mi padre for helping with Cas' car problems (not that neither of us are mechanics, though). The bento is based off my own experience, so I'm sorry if I got something wrong. All I know is that it was delicious (and I can't hold chopsticks either – the sister needs to walk me through it every time).
> 
> As for my absence: It's all school's fault, like usual. And the clusterfuck that is season 10 of SPN didn't help (where the ever-loving fuck is Cas). It's done nothing for my Destiel inspiration. Unfortunately, I'm off on a hiatus again, guys! I'll be back by summer, though, I promise! I have not one, not two, but THREE Destiel fics in mind, plus another ficlet feat. my favourite angel bros!
> 
> So this is me saying, “I'm not dead! See you soon!”


End file.
